Gravity
by Esper Sorrow
Summary: /!\THE DEATH CURE SPOILERS/!\ As he's slowly drowning into obscurity, Newt lets his mind wander... to a certain shank...


**/!\THE DEATH CURE SPOILERS/!\**

This is a **deathfic**. My apologies. Page 250 hurts.

Thanks to **2manyOTPs** for her proofreading!

**Disclaimer:** **characters** and **universe** belong to **James Dashner**. **Cover** image is **mine**.

Please think about feeding the author by leaving a **review**!

* * *

Isaac Newton, it's the shank who got an apple dropped onto his head.  
Newt, it's the shank who got a bullet fired into his head.

Haha. Bloody hell. I'm a Crank. Joking in such a moment.  
Thomas has finally shot me. I thought he would never manage to. I'm sorry I yelled at you, Tommy. But I missed your friendship.  
When you came at the Crank Palace to get me back, I thought I was about to open your guts. It wasn't even the Flare fault, it was because you hadn't help me. You've always been a Greenie, Thomas, not even able to kill me. Anyway, you finally did it and it's all that matters.  
I'm not afraid to die. I'd rather die than becoming one of them.

I didn't imagine Death to come this slowly. Maybe is it because I'm far too gone yet. I still assume I should be able to die, and it's simply taking more time than it does for a sane human. The bullet surely didn't hit an instant-death zone.

When thinking about it, the Maze times were kinda cool. Better than the rest, I mean. There were no girls, no Cranks, no mischievous twisted plans, not this shucking Flare.  
Just the Grievers, those bloody beetleblades, and us. I miss the Glade. And Frankie, Winston, Chuck, Alby. Minho too. 'Wish I could've seen them all before dying. I asked Minho to kill me. But this shank, he wouldn't listen. It was enough for me seeing him at the Crank Palace, deaf to anything I would say, to realise he would have never killed me. And yet, how much would I have preferred him to shoot me down, send me to Hell with his face as my last memory.  
But he's so stubborn.  
It hurt, Minho.

It's been a while since I saw him. I miss him, I miss running the Maze with him. We used to run so much back there, it feels like an eternity since I got my limp.  
I remember his face when he learnt what happened. He yelled at me, then sighed, turned back, and never talked about it again. I couldn't run with him anymore, but he didn't blame me for it, never complained. He thanked me for my Runner job, and that was it. I was so sick of it, regretted my bloody stupid attempt so much, wanted to help him, to run with him, to be with him as usual. But I couldn't. It hurt.

And then I turned into a Crank.  
Why couldn't he have killed me? It hurt so much.  
Once he had left the Crank Palace, once he had left me, what had he done?  
He probably had smashed everything around him. Had gotten furious at me. Had cursed me as much as he could, knowing I was doomed and still refusing the truth. What a bloody shuck-face.  
I wish he could have put an end to it. I wish I could have died in his arms. It would have felt better than watching my life just fading slowly away along with my mind, alone and pathetic.

Bloody hell. I'm crying.

Why am I finally becoming lucid in death? Why am I not Imune? Why did you inflict that on us? Why did you kill Alby, Chuck, Winston, and me? Do you honestly think it might be of any help? ...Do you even care about us?  
Of course you don't.  
Variables, schemes, patterns, all bullshit. Human life cannot be measured with programs. And yet, you're killing us all. You're digging your own grave, shucking wankers. There is no cure. There cannot be any cure obtained with human sacrifices, because it wouldn't be a remedy. Only a poison. A sick, disgusting poison agonisingly choking us all until we collapse at your feet. Until the Earth crumbles under your barbarity and you realise you're lost and already burried alive.  
And it's just fair game, isn't it, Minho?

...

Bloody hell. Why am I thinking about this shank now?

I miss everything so much. I wish Thomas had never brought any of this to the Glade, that they had let us live in peace. Amnesic, encaged, but in peace. I wouldn't have attempted suicide, and Minho and I could still be running.  
I want them to make it through. They must not die. I don't think there's anything to save on this shucking planet anymore, but they must not die. Not before they crush down this damn WICKED.  
_WICKED is good_, what a bloody joke. I bloody hate them. And don't they dare to kill the others, or I'll kill them, whether I'm dead or not. I'll come and tear out their guts.

I's gonna be alright, they're not going to die, that I'm sure. Minho's bloody stubborn, but he's a good leader...As his tattoo says. Finally something they got right about us. I knew he was a better leader than me. But, ah, he wouldn't listen to me. This shank.  
Sometimes I just wish he could stop punching everything in his way and use his shucking brain. Would he have punched me before I died? Maybe. Can't say I wouldn't have deserved it. And at least I could have kept something from him..._over here_.

While going nuts, what I feared the most was to forget. To forget everything we used to live together, the Glade, the Maze, Thomas, our escape, the Scorch, the thunder storms, our supposed Safe Haven. Even forgetting Alby's and Chuck's deaths frightened me. Then I kept on telling and repeating over everything I knew about them, about us, about me.  
Rumour has it thinking allows the Flare to spread and to damage the brain more quickly. It must explain why I didn't last long.  
But at least, I remember everything.

Isaac Newton, it's the shank who decomposed white light.  
Newt, it's the shank who's seeing the white light.

Bloody hell, finally. It was getting boring...Haha, I'm definitely more screwed up than what I thought.

I remember everything.  
My first day in the Glade, the first time I met those shanks, my first run in the Maze. The first Griever I saw a trace of, Minho's first wound. My limp. Minho yelling at me and then trying to smile. Ah, he never smiles, this shank. But he had tried. He never cries, either. He only shouts and punches. Well, maybe he'll cry learning I'm dead.  
Minho's not a bad shank. Even on the contrary, he's far too kind. I know it better than anyone.

Bloody hell. I understand this only at now.

I'm not crying anymore. I'm not hurting anymore. The only thing I can see now is this goddamn white light, so I close my eyes.

"I loved you, shuck-face."


End file.
